Marriage Laws are for Other People
by Jane99
Summary: Marriage Laws come to Britain. The teachers at Hogwarts are distinctly unimpressed. If they can't save all their students from this rampant stupidity, they can at least save some.
1. Hermione I

MARRIAGE LAWS ARE FOR OTHER PEOPLE

#

It's been a long time since I've written any fanfic. I've taken up reading it again, though, especially Harry Potter. And it turns out that marriage law fic is a thing. It's everywhere! And I'm wondering just what my favourite characters would be doing about this nasty little stunt...

It's not a romance.

#

Hermione woke to something pushing at her shoulder. "Get off, Crookshanks," she mumbled, burying her face in her pillow. "It's the middle of the night."

There was a puzzled chirrup from the end of the bed, and a familiar voice above her head speaking in low tones. " _Muffliato_."

"Professor?" said Hermione, and the grogginess was wearing off fast now. "Professor McGonagall?"

" _Lumos_." A small beam of light illuminated the face of her Head of House. McGonagall was leaning over the bed with the curtains drawn around so that the light wouldn't disturb Hermione's dorm-mates. At the end of the bed Crookshanks blinked sleepily, a warm weight on his mistress's feet.

"You need to get up, child," the Professor said. "Quickly now. We don't have a lot of time." She whisked the covers down, and if Hermione hadn't already felt her stomach drop at the sudden appearance of her favourite teacher, she would have known to worry from the sheer sympathy on the woman's face.

"What is it?" she said. "Professor, is everything alright?" A bolt of sheer horror struck her. "My parents! Are they..."

"They are well, Miss Granger, I promise," said McGonagall. She was fully dressed, Hermione saw, her hair still tight in its bun as if she hadn't even been to bed yet. "But we have to get you out of here _immediately_."

"Is it You-Know-Who? Where's Harry and Ron? Should I get Ginny?"

McGonagall snorted. "Harry and Ron are in no danger," she said. "No more than usual, at least. As for Miss Weasley..." her voice wavered a moment. "There's nothing I can do for her right now. I've only room for two. But you, on the other hand, Miss Granger, I _can_ help. And I will, so _get up this instant_."

Years of obedience to teachers – most of the time, anyway – had Hermione scrambling out of bed automatically. Crookshanks rose as well, stretching out his front legs and his wide intelligent eyes were bright and watchful.

"Here's your dressing gown. Slippers now, there's a good girl. Don't forget your wand."

Hermione hadn't even tied her gown shut when a muted chime sounded from the Professor's own wand. McGonagall cursed under her breath, and under any other circumstances Hermione would have laughed at such language coming from the normally strict teacher, but fear and movement took her breath as McGonagall grabbed her arm and actually sprinted out of the dormitory, dragging her down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor Common Room, Crookshanks following close behind.

Hermione did her best not to panic, but she wasn't helped by the portraits lining their route. Even in the dim light, she could see that half of them were urging her on, waving her down the corridors and whispering amongst themselves. "Where are we going?" she cried, and it sounded more like a wail.

Professor McGonagall didn't bother to answer her. She just ran faster.

After five minutes Hermione was bundled up the seemingly unending stairs of the Astronomy Tower. She was allowed to rest at the top, left in the doorway with a curt "Stay" from her Head of House. McGonagall strode out onto the open platform where the practical lessons were held and Hermione could see her conferring with two other teachers, who she recognised through the gloom as Professors Sinistra and Vector. The three women were huddled together, and all had angry expressions overlaid by worry.

"That it should come to this," said Sinistra. "It's a _disgrace_. At seventeen! They haven't even finished school yet!"

It was a foul night, absolutely freezing and with rain pouring down. Hermione had some shelter in the doorway but it wasn't a lot, and Crookshanks was huddled behind her legs, his flat fluffy face miserable and his tail twitching. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she said, picking the cat up and hugging him beneath her dressing gown to protect him from the weather.

She couldn't help but notice that Professor Sinistra was holding a broom. "A very bad feeling," she said, inching out into the rain and wishing for a pair of Extendable Ears.

"It's lockdown everywhere," Vector was saying. "I didn't think it would come so fast."

"Ministry officials will be here any minute," replied McGonagall. "If Madam Bones hadn't sent her alarm... We've got fifteen minutes, maybe less, to get those girls out of the castle."

"Get us where?" said a sleepy, dreamy voice from just behind Hermione.

"Luna?" she said. " _Professor Flitwick?_ " The little man nodded at her, as sombre as she'd ever seen him.

"There's nothing to worry about, girls," he said. "You're just going on a little trip, that's all."

"I'm not going anywhere!" said Hermione, her voice rising. "This is crazy! I'm not leaving Hogwarts" – leaving Harry and Ron – "not for anything!"

Professor McGonagall drew her over to one side, gentler than Hermione would have expected from the stern expression on her face. "Miss Granger," she snapped, and then stopped. Her expression softened. "Miss Granger," she said, and it was kinder now, the tone she used when complimenting Hermione on the successful completion of a particularly tricky bit of Transfiguration. "I have been your Head of House for some years now. I hope you have come to trust me as I have you."

"I do trust you, Professor," said Hermione.

"Good. I'm going to ask you to do something now, and I don't have time to explain. I know you don't like ignorance, but within the day you will understand all my reasons and so I ask you to do as I say. It is _vital_ that you now follow my instructions carefully and calmly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione, clutching her cat to her. Beneath the dressing gown, Crookshanks squirmed closer.

McGonagall attached a small box to the tie of her dressing gown. "Inside this box is a Portkey," she said. "You and Miss Lovegood are going to fly as fast as you can to just outside the school grounds-"

She was interrupted by Professor Vector, who held out a small steaming bottle to Hermione. "Pepper-Up potion," she said. "Madame Pomfrey sent it. Hurry up now and drink." She passed a second bottle to Flitwick. "You too, Luna."

The potion was hot and strong, but over the steam coming out of her ears Hermione could still hear her Head of House. "The minute you're outside the school grounds, you and Miss Lovegood need to touch the Portkey. _Together_ , mind you."

"I can't fly in this," said Hermione, automatically. She was bad enough on brooms at the best of times, but she'd never flown in such appalling weather before; the idea of it made her want to vomit. "I'll fall off!"

"I won't," said Luna, as Professor Flitwick led her up. "Hold onto me and I'll look after you."

"I can't!"

"You _can_ ," said McGonagall. "You're a Gryffindor. Be brave..." she looked as if she would have carried on, but another chime rang then, from both her wand and Flitwick's. It was deeper than before.

"They're here," said Vector. "You need to go meet them. Quickly, so they don't suspect. Aurora and I will get these two off."

Hermione felt her face being cupped gently, steadily. She realised with surprise that she was tall enough now to look McGonagall in the eye. The Professor was smiling at her; a wintry smile. "We're not really supposed to have favourites, Miss Granger," she said. "But you are mine. Good luck, my dear."

Next to her Luna had bent down to embrace her own Head of House. Flitwick kissed her on both cheeks and patted her under the chin. "I know you'll make me proud," he said.

Then the two of them were gone, moving swiftly down the stairs and out of sight. "Come on girls," said Vector, holding the broom out. Luna settled on it quickly, easily, and Hermione clung on behind her, Crookshanks squashed between them so hard that he squeaked.

"Couldn't we just go out the back door or something?" Hermione pleaded, as Sinistra transfigured their wet dressing gowns into raincoats and tugged the hoods over their heads.

"Safer this way," she said. "The Ministry might have people patrolling the grounds, but no-one's going to be looking up at this time of night. Not in this weather." And she pushed them off the tower.

It was a nightmare ride. Hermione hid her face in Luna's wet hood, trying not to scream or be sick. She was actually grateful for Crookshanks' claws, which were dug so far into her flesh they were drawing blood. The pain was almost a distraction.

Her hands went numb almost instantly. Against the rain and the wind the Pepper-Up steam could only do so much, but even if she were able to unclench her hands from Luna's raincoat long enough to wave her wand, her chattering teeth would have butchered even the simplest of warming spells. She could feel Luna shivering against her, and it didn't make Hermione feel any better to realise, half-way through their flight, that Luna was humming tunelessly to herself as well as shivering.

It was the humming that made her realise Luna was as terrified as she was: a small song, over and over, and Luna was doing it unconsciously, the humming rising almost to whimpering at each strong gust.

 _She's braver than you are right now_ , Hermione thought, and consciously tried to loosen her grip a little to let the other girl breathe easier. It didn't work. Her fingers simply wouldn't cooperate.

Landing just past the edge of the Forbidden Forest was nearly a relief. They were sheltered a little from the wind and rain, but Hermione had been in the Forest after dark before and never, ever wanted to be there again.

She fumbled the box from her dressing gown. It was only after Luna cast a warming spell on her hands that Hermione was able to get it open. Inside was a large wax apple, a piece of fake fruit like Hermione had sometimes seen in the home of elderly Muggles.

"Where do you think it will take us?" said Luna, her face shining in a small circle of light created by both their wands.

"I don't know!" Hermione bit her lip, stared from the apple to the castle and back again. "Do you think we should go back?" she said. "If they're in trouble..." _Harry_ , she thought. _Ron_. Ginny, who McGonagall had said she couldn't do anything for. And Hogwarts itself, which had become the home she was most happy in. "We could help."

"What if it's the leaving that's helping?" said Luna.

"What if it isn't?" Hermione snapped.

"Then we try our best to come back," said Luna. "What does Crookshanks say?"

"He's a _cat_ , Luna," Hermione began, but the cat in question was purring. It was a grumpy purr, one that said he hated flying as much as his mistress and his claws were all still dug in, but his fat wet head poked out of her raincoat and licked her throat.

"Two against one," said Luna.

Hermione hesitated. Then "Alright," she said, securing her wand. "Alright. But take my hand, so we don't get separated somehow." She looked at the Forest and shuddered. "Wherever we're going, it's got to be better than here," she said.

Luna's hand was wet and cold in her own. Together, they reached out their free hands and touched the apple, and the world around them disappeared –

and snapped into focus again. The world, Hermione saw, consisted of strangely large furniture and a woven rug, a warm fire burnt down to embers.

An imposing figure loomed behind them. "Welcome to Beauxbatons, petites," said Madame Maxime.


	2. Fleur I

**FLEUR**

#

Oh, I should have said: none of this is mine.

Also, this is happening around sixth year, I suppose.

#

It was her wedding day.

When she was a little girl, Fleur had dreamed of a long white dress and a castle, fairy lights in all the trees, and a train that would make her best friend _sick_ with jealousy. Flowers everywhere, and she had the menu all planned out. It would be classic and expensive and _French_.

When she agreed to marry Bill Weasley, Fleur was a grown woman and had come to be more interested in the marriage than the wedding. Because of that she was more than happy to give her husband-to-be the wedding that _he_ had always wanted – in the garden of his parents' house, with all his family about him.

There was a lot of family to have.

There'd still be flowers and fairy lights, but there'd be explosions too – Fleur _had_ met her future brothers-in-law – and if the food was all going to be home-made she'd make sure there was a croquembouche in there because after all the work she'd done to look good for her wedding day, she was going to reward herself with real pastry to go with her real husband.

Eight hours after Britain's Ministry of Magic passed their _stupide_ Marriage Laws, Fleur's wedding plans changed again.

"Who knows what they will do next, these imbeciles," she seethed. "We must not give them any chance!"

The worst of the Laws were falling on women, as always, and although as a French citizen none of them applied to her, Fleur was afraid that the Ministry's next target would be eligible men. "I am not losing you to some ugly English woman," she said.

A quick civil ceremony at the nearest wizard registry office was quite good enough for her.

"Mum's going to think you're pregnant," said Bill, and Fleur threw her pillow at him.

"Your _pauvre_ mama has enough to worry about," she said.

They were to do the ceremony twice. First in France, and then in England. It was a compromise position. They both wanted their sisters at the ceremony, but Ginny couldn't leave Britain and Fleur would have shaved her beautiful head and pulled out every one of her own beautiful teeth before she took Gabrielle over the Channel.

"She should be alright," said Bill. "She's French too, after all. They can't hold her without causing an international incident."

"I refuse to risk it," said Fleur, and that was the end of it.

She would go and collect Gabrielle, make sure they were both dressed nicely, and meet Bill for a private afternoon ceremony. Perhaps there would be time to get some flowers. Just a little bunch for her to carry, with a matching corsage for her sister.

The timing worked out well, considering that she had an errand to run beforehand. Madame Maxime had requested her presence – "I believe you've met one of the girls before" – and both of them were known to her future family. Mrs. Weasley had even asked her to look in and help explain, which was far more magnanimous than Fleur would have been, under the circumstances.

"This McGonagall woman, she should have helped your sister," she said. Ginny would be her sister as well, soon enough, and Fleur had a soft spot for sisters.

"We'll just have to find another way," said Bill.

"Yes," she said, kissing him and trying to smooth away the unhappy lines on his forehead. "We will."

#

"They arrived in the middle of the night," said Madame Maxime. "Wet through and near hypothermic, with a half-Kneazle like a drowned rat. No idea what was going on, poor little things. Minerva was taken off-guard I think. I dried them off and slipped a sleeping potion into their chocolate, put them straight to bed."

She looked at Fleur. "I thought it would help for them to see a friendly face," she said.

"I don't know them that well," said Fleur. "They are friends of my family. Of my fiancé's family. But I shall try." For Bill, and for his youngest brother, and because she felt sorry for two young girls in a strange country.

"These English," she said. "They are a strange people."

#

The girl's hair was worse than she remembered. Fleur found herself trying not to talk to it, but it was an effort to keep her eyes on the girl's face and not the bird's nest on her head. _She'll be taught how to manage it better here,_ she thought.

At least the other one looked as if she had brushed hers. There was a fairly odd necklace that could charitably be called an attempt at individual style, but that was looking on the _very_ bright side of things.

"I think there's a lot you could learn at Beauxbatons," she said. "You are both very lucky to be here."

Birds-nest scowled at her. _Hermione_ , Fleur thought. _Not Birds-nest. Hermione._ "I don't know that we'll be staying that long," she said. "I want to go back to Hogwarts."

"Then you are a fool," said Fleur. "A silly little foolish girl who does not understand." She watched as Hermione turned scarlet, and tried to get hold of her temper. "Worse than all of these," she said, "you are ungrateful as well. Others could have taken your place."

Bill's sister was a pretty creature. She was probably afraid now, and crying, Fleur thought. Gabrielle would be afraid and crying, in her place.

Really, she could _slap_ the British Ministry. Slap all of them on their stupid faces.

Fleur had never been so grateful to be French. She took careful breaths, in and out, slowly, calming herself. She should not let her anger at the Ministry spill over onto Birds... onto Hermione.

The girl was not raised with her advantages. Bill said that she had political interests, this young one, but clearly that sense had yet to be well-honed.

The other girl – Luna – put her hand over Hermione's and squeezed. To Fleur's great surprise, she deflated a little.

"Madame Maxime said there was a Marriage Law," said Luna.

"I'm sure there's a way around it," Hermione snapped, clearly unable to help herself.

"Yes, perhaps," said Fleur. "In time. But you are seventeen. For you there is no time. And Luna is sixteen, yes?" As old as Ginny. Not so much older than Gabrielle. "That is not much time also."

"Is it the same for everyone?" said Luna. She looked lopsided, almost, Fleur thought, as if she were staring just to the left of Fleur when she spoke to her, rather than straight-on.

It was very disconcerting.

Truth was also disconcerting.

"It is only for the girls," she said. "The boys, well. They are free until twenty-five, the lucky things."

"But that's not _fair_ ," said Hermione.

"No-one said life is fair," said Fleur. "What is that thing they call you? The charming word, when you are not a child of wizards. Oh yes. _Mudblood_. Is that fair? Is that kind? I do not think so. And you have been called this, over and over and still you complain about _fair_?"

Because Fleur did not neglect her social skills, she knew that she was often dismissed as a very pretty girl, but Madame Maxime had not brought stupid girls to Hogwarts. Each girl had been a candidate for the Tournament, and each girl had the intellect to excel.

She suspected that a reminder along those lines would not hurt.

"Let me see if I can explain what it is your Ministry thinks," she said. "First they think of biology, of the family. The women are encouraged to have babies young, so there are more babies." She thought of Bill's parents, who had married early themselves and apparently never quite understood about contraception.

Fleur understood it very well. She would _not_ be having seven children, thank you very much.

"But it is no good to marry girls to boys who cannot support a family. So they wish to marry these young girls to men who have finished their education, who have found a career or finished an apprenticeship. If they have a good wage, their little wives can make the babies sooner.

"People who have young children are much less likely to make trouble. They are too tired to spend all their nights plotting. They cannot run off and join a revolution if they have to worry about feeding the little ones. This breeding early, it is a stabilising influence."

Fleur smiled at both girls, and filled their cups with more chocolate. The younger one was looking peaky; it would do her good.

"That is why it is compulsory now. For the girls. Marry at seventeen, to an established, stable mate, or the Ministry will pick a partner for you. Consummation is expected and they are generous enough to _permit_ contraception after the first child. Once the tie is made."

"What if I refuse," said Hermione. "What if I just say no?"

"Then it is Azkaban for you, for encouraging social disorder," said Fleur. "It is not very pleasant there, I hear. I believe you would change your mind quickly enough."

"There's a species of stonefish that lives around the islands of Fiji," said Luna, chewing on the edge of one nail. A terrible habit; Fleur wanted to snatch her fingers away from her mouth and paint them with poison. Not to kill, of course not! But just enough to make the girl sick enough to discourage her from gnawing. It was unladylike.

"The Invisible Spiked Shoe-Shredder," Luna continued. "It lives in packs. Every so often one tries to run away – they've a terrible sense of migration – and the others squeeze it into the centre of the pack, until it knows where it is again."

"Then it doesn't want to run away anymore?" said Fleur.

"Then they eat it," said Luna. "I think Draco Malfoy would like seeing you in Azkaban, Hermione," she said. "But I think he would like to see you come out of it more. To be given away to whomever the Ministry picks. I think he'd find it funny."

"So you must see," said Fleur, "that you cannot go back."

"My friends are there!" cried Hermione. "They need my help. You-Know-Who is back. He's going to come after Harry again-"

"And you can assist him best from inside Azkaban," said Fleur. "Or perhaps if you are very pregnant you will be a help in the fighting?"

"You must understand that these Marriage Laws... they are a help to him. To You-Know-Who. They take attention away from him and he is left to build up his forces in peace. Which is probably why such people as Monsieur Malfoy support this, yes? His son, the pale boy, he was always going to marry another pureblood. Why argue if it happens early, and pleases the master?"

"You think that You-Know-Who is behind this?" said Luna.

"You think that your Ministry came up with this all by themselves?" said Fleur, her accent thickening with disgust. "Well, zat _is_ a comfort."

"Purebloods marry purebloods," said Hermione slowly.

"Breed more purebloods," said Fleur. "Which makes certain people happy, I believe."

"Halfbloods marry halfbloods, and after three generations of this they're classed as pureblood?" said Hermione. "I don't think so. The real pureblood families – the ones who stand on it, like the Malfoys – won't accept them as pureblood no matter what the law says."

"Who says they'll be around in three generations?" said Fleur. "This law, it does not affect the purebloods. It is to tempt the halfbloods and Muggleborns... a path to the top. So they think. But it is distraction. And it is a good distraction because even those who do not believe that he is back think that this is a way to break down the blood-barriers, to promote peace between the wizards. It is very neat. But it is a trap."

"You are luckier than most," she said. "Your teachers got you out of the trap. Of all the girls in 'Ogwarts, they chose you two to save. It is a gift that they have given you. You have the responsibility not to waste it."

"You must not allow yourselves to be distracted," she said. "You must find a way to contribute from _here_. You must find a way to resist _here_."

"You will do very well at Beauxbatons, if you let yourselves," she said.

#

Fleur smiled as she left the school. She didn't know if she'd managed to persuade them, but Madame Maxime seemed hopeful. In any case she had done her best, and there was still time to take Gabrielle to the hair salon before dressing for Bill, for the start of their new life together.

It was her wedding day. It wasn't how she planned it, but she was marrying of her own free will, to a man she had chosen freely.

That too was resistance.


	3. Minerva I

**MINERVA**

#

 _One of the reviewers said that they thought this version of Marriage Law was as bad for the men as for the women. I quite agree, and I'll be showing the consequences of that later in the story. For the moment, though, it's back to Hogwarts, which still isn't mine._

 _Madam Bones was never murdered in this story._

#

Minerva McGonagall had seen, in her life, worse days than this. There had been sadder days and more violent ones... days when she had been frightened down to the very core of her being.

There had never been a day, however, that had left her with more disgust than this one. And it wasn't over yet.

The owls had finally stopped coming, but she knew that there'd be more of them at dawn, as anxious parents argued through the night and sent desperate variations on _Not our daughter, surely!_ and _Isn't there anything you can do?_

Not to mention those who saw which way the wind was blowing and who had come to visit their children with news of betrothals and binding contracts. She was sure she'd heard the weeping in Gryffindor Tower from her office – at least from the girls who weren't shell-shocked into compliance.

"It's not what I'd hoped for her," said Katie Bell's father. "But my godson's a good lad and she'll be safe with him until it all blows over."

If the Marriage Law couldn't be overturned or avoided, the worst could at least be mitigated. Convincing parents of the need for mitigation had taken up the largest portion of her day.

#

"I'm sorry, but emigration will not be possible. For you, perhaps, but you'd have to leave your daughter behind."

"Yes, I'm certain. Ministry officials came in the middle of the night, just after the Law passed. They charmed each girl so that she can't leave."

"No, not even by Apparition."

"The International Floo Network is being strictly monitored."

"Portkeys won't work. All eligible Portkeys are now authorised by the Ministry. Unauthorised use will see you in Azkaban."

"Please think of your family! You're no good to them there."

"You could still take your son. There's another ten years before he has to wed, if it hasn't been overturned by then. He won't leave his sisters? I didn't think so. A brave lad. Credit to his House."

"Yes, it's appalling. No, I can't do anything."

"No, Dumbledore can't do anything either."

"Of course I'm certain! He's not above the law. More's the pity."

"No. Marriage is most certainly not a death sentence. I grant you that."

"We will find a way for your daughter to complete her education. You have my word."

"Thank you for the invitation. I would be... pleased... to attend."

If only it did not feel so much like a betrayal. Of her vocation, of her desire to protect the students under her – and of her friends, although some would never see her that way again. She remembered the worst of the visits that morning. It was one she would never forget...

#

"It is true?" Molly Weasley's face in her fireplace, tear-streaked and furious. "IS IT TRUE?!"

It was moments like these when Professor McGonagall wished she were a coward. Then she could prevaricate, pretend not to understand, plead pre-existing arrangements and make the other woman an appointment for the following day. _Of course it's true, Molly! You talked to me not two hours ago. You and Arthur both. Nothing has changed since then. I regret to inform you that the Marriage Law is still very much a reality._ It would be so easy...

She was so tired, and her head pounded. No-one would blame her for wanting a break... just a brief lie down. She'd been up for over 24 hours.

 _I'm too old for this_ , she thought – and too old, unfortunately, for lies.

"Come through, Mrs. Weasley," she said. "Please. I'll make us both a nice cup of tea."

There was a flare from the fireplace and Molly Weasley stepped into the office. Her hair was a mess and her clothes dishevelled. She didn't even try to brush the soot from them. "It's going to take a lot more than tea if you've done what I think you've done," she said, grimly. "I've spoken to Ginny. She says Hermione Granger's gone from Gryffindor Tower. That a house-elf was in there today, packing up her things."

She stalked up to McGonagall, her wand hand shaking. "TELL ME!" she bellowed, so loud that pain stabbed behind McGonagall's eyes, making a bad headache even worse. _"TELL ME YOU DIDN'T GET HER OUT AND LEAVE MY DAUGHTER BEHIND!"_

She was so loud the windows rattled. The two women stared at each other before Molly sank, exhausted, into a chair and hid her face in her hands. McGonagall stood helplessly for a moment before placing the cup of tea – she'd been holding it half-filled all the time – before the other woman, and squeezing one shaking shoulder.

It took several minutes for Mrs. Weasley to get hold of herself and when she did, McGonagall could hardly keep from wincing. The hollow tone from her fellow Order member was worse than shouting.

"Tell me her parents have taken her on holiday. Tell me she's just gone home for her Sunday dinner. Tell me she's in the hospital wing! Tell me anything other than that."

"I can't," said McGonagall. She said it as gently as she could, but Mrs. Weasley still flinched back as if she'd been slapped.

"Why didn't you take Ginny too?" It was little more than a wail.

"I couldn't," said McGonagall, seating herself on the other side of her desk and reaching across for hands that were pulled back. "Molly. Please try to understand. We didn't know it was going to happen. There _were_ rumours – you and Arthur must have heard them."

Mrs. Weasley nodded once, her movement jerky.

"But we didn't think it would actually happen. No-one thought it would actually happen." And certainly not at a closed session at the Ministry, late at night with no warning.

" _Someone_ thought it would," said Mrs. Weasley. "The Floo, the Portkeys. The charms! It's not the sort of thing that's organised overnight!"

"No. It was kept very quiet. You-Know-Who still has his supporters." Lucius Malfoy for one. "They've clearly been planning this for some time. But convincing everyone else of the truth behind this... it's going to take a while."

Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands together, her face turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower though McGonagall doubted she saw as far as the walls of her office, for her eyes were spilling over with tears. "And until then, _my daughter_..." She swung her head back to McGonagall, her voice hardening. "You still haven't answered my question. We've worked together a long time, Minerva. The Order has worked together a long time. I thought we were allies. So Why. Not. Ginny."

"We thought – the other teachers and I – that if this ridiculous Law ever did come into force it would be months from now. Years, even. We thought we had time. Professor Vector and I spoke with Madame Maxime over at Beauxbatons. She agreed, in principle, to shelter any students who might have to leave Hogwarts because of it, though I'm not sure she thought it would happen any more than we did.

"Professor Vector and I made a Portkey. One that was off-the-books, as it were. Completely unauthorised. You know what it's like with international travel – no-one wants foreigners popping in and out of their country without any sort of record. We didn't want a record. So we made a Portkey powerful enough to transport two people, and undetectable as long as it was activated outside of the Hogwarts wards. It went to Maxime's private office – we used it ourselves, when the three of us were discussing the situation. Maxime didn't want to use owls or the Floo. She's not very impressed with the Ministry after that debacle with the Goblet of Fire; she didn't want to chance any possibility of interception."

"Two people," said Mrs. Weasley, catching on to the one detail McGonagall would have preferred she missed. "Hermione Granger and who else?"

"A young lady called Luna Lovegood," said McGonagall. "I believe you know her?" The Lovegoods lived relatively near to the Weasleys, and their children had grown up in the same community. "Professors Flitwick and Vector were most insistent."

"Why didn't you tell them _No_?" cried Molly. "You're Gryffindor's Head of House! Why didn't you look to your own students first?"

" _Mrs. Weasley_ ," said McGonagall, in tones that would have shut up even the most troublesome of her offspring. "I am the Deputy Headmistress of this school! I have a responsibility to _all_ of the students here, and I will not treat some of them as lesser because they belong to a different House."

"But you will treat some of them as lesser," accused Mrs. Weasley. "When it came to make a choice, you thought it was more important to save Hermione than Ginny! Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

There was a heavy pause. Then "Yes," said McGonagall. Refusing to look away from Molly Weasley then was the hardest thing she'd ever done, and when the other woman crumpled in front of her, for an instant Minerva McGonagall really _hated_ herself.

 _A waste of energy,_ she thought. _Hate the cause of this. Hate the Ministry, hate You-Know-Who. Hate the necessity of terrible choices. Don't hate yourself for having to make them. You can't afford to hate yourself. It will only cloud your judgement._

"Ginny's such a good girl," said Mrs. Weasley, weeping.

"She is," said McGonagall.

"I always told her she could be whatever she wanted," said Mrs. Weasley. "She's so clever."

"Yes," said McGonagall. Miss Weasley had her OWLS at the end of the year, and she was sure to bring credit to herself and her family with her performance.

"And pretty. Much prettier than I was, at her age."

"Yes," said McGonagall again.

"She wants to be a Quidditch player, did you know?"

"I suspected as much," said McGonagall. "And she still can. Don't give up, Molly."

"It's going to be a hell of a lot harder with babies hanging off her," said Mrs. Weasley. "Don't tell me it isn't. I know how much small children take out of you." The implication _And you don't_ hung in the air.

There was nothing to say to that.

"I always thought you were mad on Quidditch," said Mrs. Weasley, and there were spiteful undertones in her voice. "But I suppose it just doesn't matter if Ginny misses out. It's not important."

"Yes, it is," said McGonagall, for if the opportunity to use one's talents freely wasn't important then what was? "Ginevra is a very talented young lady. I'm sure that one day there will be many professional teams who would be lucky to have her. But..."

"But what?" said Mrs. Weasley, glaring over the desk. "But what? SAY IT."

"But Quidditch is a _game_. An exciting game, to be sure. Yet still only a game. And Quidditch talent, enviable as it might be, is not exactly rare. An intellect like Miss Granger's, however, comes along once in a generation. Perhaps twice, if Professor Flitwick's assertions about Miss Lovegood hold merit. With You-Know-Who back, we need that more than we need good Quidditch players.

"I'm sorry, Molly. I am. I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry that we live in a society that has allowed this to happen, and I'm sorry that Hogwarts was not better prepared to protect its students. For that one decision, however, for Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood, I am _not_ sorry. I would do it again. Their talents must be encouraged."

"What happened to _she still can_ , Professor? Or does that only apply to girls like my Ginny?"

"As you said, Molly," replied McGonagall, feeling the weight of all her years. "It would be harder."

"Then we've nothing else to say to each other," said Mrs. Weasley, and if she had stormed to the fireplace then McGonagall would have held out some hope that the friendship between them might have one day been repairable. There was in the other woman a cold flatness, however, of the same sort that McGonagall had felt when she had known she would have to make a choice and had not shirked from it.

Their mutual work with the Order would continue. There would be civility and mutual respect, but trust and liking would never come again.

There was a brief flare of hope when Mrs. Weasley halted, one foot in the fireplace and her back still firmly to McGonagall. "You must have had some warning," she said. "Even if only a few minutes. Just enough to get them off."

"Madam Bones," said McGonagall. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Although I ask you to keep that under your hat." It was a reminder of stakes and an extension of faith both.

Molly turned. "She's a niece here, doesn't she? In Ron's year, I think. Susan. Her aunt warned you, and you passed her over too."

 _Damn the Weasley children for coming by their cunning honestly_ , McGonagall thought. "Miss Bones' parents took her out of school two days ago. Her great-aunt is dying, they said. Apparently the two are very close and they wanted her to say goodbye. We had no reason to disbelieve them."

"And this great-aunt lives where?"

"New Zealand," McGonagall confessed, and watched the other woman's lip curl bitterly before she turned and stepped into the flames.

When Molly Weasley had gone, Professor McGonagall laid her head on her desk and wept. She didn't allow herself to do it for very long, but she did it all the same.


End file.
